


losing sleep

by purple01_prose



Series: and that's what growing up can do for you [1]
Category: Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Autistic Character, Coming of Age, Discussion of Grief, Families of Choice, Female-Centric, Gen, Loneliness, POV Female Character, Politics, Post Episode 14, Strongarm Defense Squad, The High Council is hella shady
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-04-05 08:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4172295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple01_prose/pseuds/purple01_prose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Earth is hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	losing sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Whether intended or not, Strongarm seems coded as being on the autistic spectrum, and I've taken that and run with it.

The humans called it ‘self-care.’ Russell had been sighing over something called ‘bath-bombs’, and when Fixit had been obviously rather concerned about setting off explosives within a contained body of water, he had explained it as “It’s about taking care of yourself. It’s to make you feel good. Cybertronians don’t have something like that?”

 

Strongarm hadn’t _meant_ to eavesdrop, she had just been training by the _Alchemor_ console and had happened to overhear. But the thought of ‘self care’ had stuck in her processor, and she had quietly done her research.

 

There was a carwash not too far north of the junkyard, and it wasn’t operated during the night. As long as she was careful, there wasn’t anything wrong with stopping by.

 

And it’s not like Bumblebee had them on curfew or anything. They weren’t supposed to leave the junkyard after dark, but the rule wasn’t written down or anything, so...

 

She realized she was rationalizing _taking care of herself_ and she needed to stop doing that. She deserved to be clean.

 

She deserved some space.

 

Bumblebee meant well, but sometimes she was uncomfortable with how he tracked her with that look of _concern_ , and honestly, sir, she was doing fine _please stop asking_. Grimlock was all right, as long as he wasn’t in a cuddling mood (no, no, please do not touch me, no, I do not require hugs but when I do I will come find you), but he wasn’t a good sparring partner, since it wasn’t about skill with him, just brute strength.

 

And don’t even get her started on Sideswipe.

 

So, the carwash.

 

It became _her_ spot, the place she could unwind and relax and decompress her processor. She hadn’t really let herself process what had happened on Earth so far beyond as it related to their mission, but perhaps it was the gentle brushing or the patter of water across her plating that enabled her processor to finally examine the cached memories.

 

She _hated_ to have lubricant leak from her eyes, but she could live with it if she was alone. She just wished she didn’t have to.

 

So while that her plating felt better—healthier, even—after, she felt a little more shattered each time. She couldn’t understand it, but finally she managed to get Russell away from literally everyone else (it was easier than anticipated; Denny wanted Russell to see his new school, but Bumblebee and Sideswipe had gone out for a training exercise and Denny had a new customer so it was up to Strongarm), and after they had accomplished the goal of the trip, Strongarm parked at the football field.

 

“Strongarm? You okay?”

 

Her icon flickered briefly on the wheel, before she ventured, “Can you tell me more...about how the humans define self care?”

 

Russell tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

 

“Well, I--,” she cleared her vocalizer, “that is to say, _hypothetically_ , I’m, er, trying it.”

 

“And?” Russell straightened up in the seat.

 

“And I don’t understand why I don’t feel better after it,” she mumbled.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

She vented. “Emotionally. I don’t feel better emotionally.”

 

Russell looked like he understood. “You know, we haven’t really talked about my mom or where she is.”

 

“No...your mother is the female contributor to your DNA, yes?”

 

“Er, yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, my mom divorced my dad a couple of years ago. You can probably get why.”

 

Strongarm paused as she searched the term ‘divorce’ and gave a cursory look over the main causes. “Your father...was seeing someone else?”

 

“No! Just that...my dad’s obsessive. About, well, all of this. He never really learned how to manage it so that my mom got some attention too. But anyway, I was young and my mom wanted to make sure I was okay, so she put me in therapy.”

 

“Physical or mental?”

 

“Mental.” Russell took a deep breath. “I didn’t really like it, the therapist talked down to me and I just...I didn’t like it. But Mom said I needed to go, because emotions can be hurt just like the body, and just like the body, it takes time for them to heal.”

 

“So...?”

 

“So, if you get upset while taking care of yourself, it’s not a bad thing. Think about the time we had to take the thingy out of Bumblebee’s ‘posterior.’ It hurt him, right? And was annoying for a good day or so. But after it was done, he was okay. So sometimes, when you’re dealing with emotions and uncovering them, it hurts. And if you’ve sat on it, it can hurt for a long time. Eventually, though—and this is definitely true—it starts to hurt less as you heal.”

 

“Did this therapy teach you that?”

 

“No. My mom did.” Russell placed a hand on her dashboard, and she tensed slightly. It didn’t hurt or feel uncomfortable, but she wasn’t used to being touched, especially in altmode. “We had a lot of discussions about it after my grandpa died.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Thanks. Hey, Strongarm?”

 

“Yes, Russell?”

 

“I know you don’t feel comfortable talking about stuff, but you could. If you wanted to.”

 

She caught her breath. “...thank you, Russell.”

 

“No problem.”

 

\--

 

Of course, all good things came to an end.

 

\--

 

“I guess what I don’t understand,” Bumblebee said carefully, long after Grimlock and Sideswipe had headed home, “was why you didn’t tell me.”

 

“About the sneaking out, sir?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Strongarm focused on the towel to wipe away the last bit of water from her cables. “I, uh, needed some space.” She looked over at him, embarrassment heating her plating. “It just gets really...close in the junkyard at times.”

 

“Do you want me to talk to Sideswipe?”

 

“No, sir!” She shook her head, tucking the damp towel into her subspace. Driving back would create enough heat to dry it. “No,” she repeated more quietly. “He’s my problem to deal with. If you stepped in, he’d...” Well, she’d already started. Might as well finish it. “He’d just get worse.”

 

Bumblebee was watching her in that unsettling way again. “You _can_ come to me if you need it, Strongarm.”

 

“Sir, regulations--.”

 

He made a disparaging noise. “Strongarm. We’re far from Cybertron, and _while we are in the field_ ,” he cut her off before she could interrupt, “yes, attend to regulations and everything, but when we’re not in the field...it’s okay to relax a little.”

 

She stiffened. “Sir, I can understand why you’d say so, but Grimlock and Sideswipe do not attend to regulations even when in the field. Someone has to.” She stalked past him and flipped into altmode. Hopefully, he wouldn’t follow.

 

He didn’t.

 

\--

 

“Soooooo, Strongarm...”

 

“Not today.”

 

“But--.”

 

“Not today.”

 

\--

 

“Strongarm,” Bumblebee barked. She jumped to attention—he might never have the same presence that some of the Council or Optimus Prime had, but he had his own assertiveness, and when he said jump you said _how high_ —and met his optics squarely. “You’re with me today.”

 

“We going on patrol, sir?”

 

“Training exercise. Fixit, comm. me if Sideswipe gives you any trouble.” When Sideswipe opened to complain, Bumblebee glared at him. Sideswipe must’ve been rude to Fixit again. “Strongarm, let’s go.”

 

They both transformed into altmode and Bumblebee led the way. She had no idea where they were going, except that they were headed north as fast as they could go. She had no problem keeping up with him, something she was privately grateful for—Bumblebee’s altmode was faster than hers’, since she relied more on strength than speed. He seemed to know the location they were going to, so she didn’t ask.

 

She wasn’t good at reading emotions, not the way Grimlock could, but even she could pick up the tension between her and Bumblebee since their last conversation. It had been uncomfortable, mostly due to that she had no idea how to apologize because she didn’t know what she did wrong.

 

After a few hours, he came to a stop in a clearing. Well, ‘clearing’ was the right word for the large area that they could move in, but the sky was not clear—the tall trees around them kept the slight rain off. She followed suit when he transformed, and she looked up at the trees around them. “Sir, why are we here?”

 

He was bouncing from pede to pede with a slight smirk. “Sparring.”

 

“...sir?”

 

“Look, you can’t kick Sideswipe’s aft the way you want to because you’ve got more training than he does and you could seriously hurt him, not that he recognizes that. So you need to let loose all of that irritation and aggression, so we’ll do it in a healthy way.”

 

“But,” she sighed. “Sir, I’m _bigger_ than you.”

 

“And I’ve gone up against Starscream and Megatron,” he challenged.

 

She fell into a fighting stance, her fists loosely held in front of her. Bumblebee beckoned to her, and she grinned before letting loose a punch at his facial plating. He grabbed her wrist and turned with the movement, launching her over his shoulder. She hit the ground hard, blinking the dust from her optics as she rolled to the side, away from his stomp. She settled into a crouch, and then rushed at Bumblebee, slamming her shoulder into his torso and pushing him into a tree.

 

He rumbled with laughter, jerking his knee up against her stomach. It wasn’t a good angle, but he hit her just right, and she released him to gasp. He let her catch her breath. “Already feeling better?”

 

 “A little,” she admitted, taking a step back. “Where is this place, exactly?”

 

“Middle of the Rocky Mountains. Places here are so remote that if a human strays off the trail, they’ll die, so if we go off-road...”

 

“We won’t be seen. Smart.”

 

“Exactly.” This time, he swung at her first, and she ducked up the punch to kick the inside of his ankle. He clattered to the ground, mud smearing along his plating, but he curled a hand around her ankle and _pulled_. She wobbled, but her weight—and her strength—was in her legs for a reason. She yanked her leg out of his grasp and took a step back to wind up some strength, but Bumblebee pushed himself to his feet. She turned the effort into a spinning kick, and he jumped out of the way, and her foot slammed into the trunk of the tree behind him. She felt splinters force their way into her cabling, and the tree’s trunk shattered behind the strength of the kick.

 

“So. You wanna tell me why you get as stiff as turbofox scenting danger when I mention you relaxing?”

 

She misjudged the distance and ended up punching another tree. The plating over her finger joints flared, and she shook her hand in an attempt to get rid of the splinters. “W-why is that relevant?”

 

He ignored that as he shifted his body into a kick aimed at her midsection. She caught his ankle and heaved, and it wasn’t enough to flip him, but he certainly landed on his aft. She grinned. He looked up at her and proffered his hand, and she helped him up. “I don’t mean to insult you,” he said easily, tightening his grip on her hand when she tried to pull away. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t happen unintentionally. I need to know why, so that it won’t happen again.”

 

Her shoulders slumped. “There’s nothing wrong with always being on duty.”

 

He looked like he wanted to say something to that, but his optics dimmed. “Again,” he told her, shifting back into a battle stance. “You telegraph your kicks. Let’s work on that.”

 

“Yes _sir_.”

 

* * *

 

“Report on Bee’s team, compiled with Bee’s observations, my own, and my operatives.” Jazz slid the datapad onto Prowl’s desk and leaned back in his chair. “Any questions?”

 

Prowl didn’t look up from his datapad, something that irritated Jazz. “What did you perceive of the team dynamics?”

 

“Sideswipe’s a kid who’s got no sense of formal structure, and since Bee’s not a hugely structured bot himself, Sideswipe can work with Bee. Grimlock’s not dangerous, so I’d really like to find out the reasoning in Grimlock’s files for why he was given the Decepticon brand, especially since they’ve requested me back.”

 

“And the other members of the team?”

 

“Why the hell was Fixit assigned to the _Alchemor_?”

 

“We’re still trying to find that out. I have thoughts, but I won’t venture them until I can read the files.” Prowl _finally_ looked over the edge of the datapad. “And Cadet Strongarm?”

 

“Pretty competent, for someone who was never briefed on Earth or how to handle it.”

 

Prowl hummed deep in his vocalizer. “I pulled some strings to make sure she was assigned to Bee’s team.”

 

Jazz retracted his visor. “Really.”

 

“It won’t hurt such a structured cadet to be mentored by someone with little formal structure, and Bee’s a good influence.”

 

“He likes her,” Jazz said, just a touch grudgingly. “Sideswipe spent most of his time trying to impress me, so I didn’t get a chance to analyze Bee and Strongarm as much as you’d like. But when I head back, I’ll pay more attention.” He poked the datapad closer to Prowl.

 

Prowl cleared his vocalizer delicately. “The Council has asked me to place you full time in Kaon City.”

 

“And you said...”

 

“That as head of SpecOps, you need to have certain amount of mobility.”

 

“So no.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

“And they reacted...”

 

“They’ve placed Arcee and Knockout in Vos, ostensibly to help set up the Vosian Medical Academy, and Smokescreen and Ratchet have been moved to Kaon City.”

 

It was Jazz’s turn to hum. “They’re deliberately separating Team Prime.”

 

“All of them together could pose a political threat to the stability of the Council. They fail to see that none of them wants the responsibility. Bee could have moved up farther in the ranks had he shown an inclination.”

 

“And Arcee and Ratchet could’ve made a formidable diplomatic team.” Jazz wove his fingers together and rested the edge of his chin on them. “Guess my question is what you want of _me_.”

 

“Remain mobile for now. The Council’s debating about moving their base to Iacon, but they’re afraid it’ll seem too much like pre-war Senate.” Prowl shuffled his datapads. “I’ve got Perceptor working on getting a spacebridge pulled together for Bee’s purpose, but we need to keep it quiet. If it got out to the Council that we had a regular way to keep in contact with Bee—”

 

“The Council would be _all_ over that.”

 

“I sent out Ultra Magnus to retrieve what’s left of the Wreckers. I believe one of the humans is traveling with them full time, and that might be a helpful link for Bee.”

 

“You’re gambling everything on him,” Jazz pointed out.

 

Prowl met Jazz’s eyes, his mouth twitching slightly. “He’s the only one I trust to lead without getting caught up in himself.”

 

“He still doesn’t have a rallying cry,” Jazz felt obligated to point that out. His tanks were still churning with secondhand embarrassment over ‘Let’s bug out!’

 

“He’ll get there. At some point.”

 

“Yeah, _you_ go to Earth and decide that for yourself.”

 

“Perhaps I will.” Prowl looked back down at a datapad. “I’ll read over your report and have some follow-up questions.”

 

“I might even look forward to it. Where do you want me?”

 

“Iacon.”

 

“On it.” Jazz rose, making sure to push the chair ten angles past what it had been when he entered the room. “Talk later, I guess.”

 

“Fix the chair before you leave.”

 

 _Damnit_.

 

* * *

 

The great thing about Jazz visiting, Bee discovered, is that transmissions to Cybertron got a _lot_ better after Jazz got his hands on their communications equipment.

 

The greater thing was that he was finally talking to Arcee after months of radio silence.

 

“Bumblebee!”

 

“Arcee!”

 

After the requisite greetings (part of Bumblebee would always crush on her, she was the cool older sister slash badass warrior, and she was a crucial factor during his growing up, so that even if he wasn’t in love with her now, he had been at one point), she leaned her chin on her hand and smiled warmly. All of their paintjobs had changed once they didn’t need to camouflage themselves, and there was more pink in her color scheme than there used to be.

 

He liked it.

 

“So, I heard you broke into a museum and co-opted a spacebridge,” she teased. “I thought that Smokescreen was the punk, not you.”

 

“The museum was _open_ ,” he protested, good-naturedly. “But co-opting a spacebridge, I’ll own. It’s hard to say no to Optimus, even his ghost. Which I’m not entirely sure it was.”

 

“You’ve seen him too?”

 

“Wait. _What?_ ”

 

“Yeah, the night before Knockout and me left for Vos, he appeared to me and said that he sent you to Earth. That something was coming and we needed to prepare. That was all he had the energy to tell me, and I haven’t seen him since. I would have thought it was sensor ghosts, except that Jazz made sure to BCC me on his report after he visited you.”

 

Bee sighed. “I was hoping for some more information. It seems like the past Primes control how he can appear, and when.”

 

“Damn.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Arcee sighed. “So. How’s Earth?”

 

“Less dangerous than it used to be. How’s Vos?”

 

“Full of fliers. Knockout’s trying to match their preening.”

 

Bee choked at the mental image. Arcee’s general dislike of frippery plus Knockout’s natural flamboyance and _fliers_...He gave up the ghost entirely and dissolved into laughter, hiding his face in his hands. “So glad you find my situation amusing,” Arcee said tartly, and Bumblebee _howled_.

 

Arcee snorted, and before long, they were collapsed at their desks, their vocalizers staticky with good humor. “Solus, I needed that,” Arcee gasped.

 

“You _needed_ that?”

 

“Oh, shut up.” Arcee’s face creased with a smile. “So. Tell me about your team.”

 

He started off with Grimlock, because a good part of Grimlock reminded Bee of Bulkhead, and he wanted Arcee to know that. Then Fixit, because he had a huge soft spot for Fixit, to the point that every time Sideswipe insulted the mini-con, Bee kind of wanted to backhand the guy across the face.

 

He had an interesting relationship with Sideswipe, he informed her, in that he tried to keep that teenager in line and to give him a role model. Arcee snorted at that, but it was a gentle noise so he ignored it. “And then there’s Strongarm.”

 

“Something wrong with her?”

 

“No, I just—I don’t know how to reach her. She’s a good kid, _great_ cadet, but she’s being eaten up with loneliness, and Sideswipe’s such an aft to her, so I can only put them together so much without worrying about bodily harm, and she’s not comfortable with Grimlock because he’s so loud and she’s not. She just...hasn’t connected with anyone, and I’ve tried, and I think she’s okay with me, but she doesn’t _talk_ to me.”

 

Arcee was shaking her head. “What, you know something I don’t?” he demanded.

 

“Bumblebee. You’re her commanding officer.”

 

“So...?”

 

“Look, while we were on Earth, we had a series of extreme circumstances, so that traditional chain of command was dissolved. You remember how Ultra Magnus had to adjust.”

 

“Yeah...”

 

“But your team hasn’t _had_ that. From what it sounds like, Grimlock, Fixit, and Sideswipe have never served under a structured command like the Elite Guard, and you don’t like structure a lot anyway. But Strongarm has, and does. There hasn’t been a situation that’s caused your team to ignore the chain of command, so while you think of Strongarm like your little sister, she _doesn’t_ think of you like an older brother. Just give her some time.”

 

“When did you get to be so good at this?” he complained. “Bulkhead was always better than you at this.”

 

“I was never _bad_ at it,” she quipped. “But. Cliff.”

 

He watched her for her reaction, but when she merely shrugged once, he breathed out. “Yeah, he helped you with your skittishness.”

 

“And Jack,” Arcee agreed. From the background, Bee dimly heard Knockout yell, “Tell Bee hi for me!”

 

“Knockout says hi,” Arcee deadpanned.

 

Bee shook his head. “Hi, Knockout.” He checked the clock, and bit back a curse. “I’ve got to hang up, I’ve got a training exercise with the team in a few hours and I should catch some recharge before then.”

 

“You’ve got my commline now, I except you to you to contact me,” Arcee said severely.

 

He saluted her. “Yes ma’am.”

 

“And think about that,” she ordered. “Not everyone’s in love with people like you are.”

 

He flapped a hand. “Yeah, yeah. Get some rest too.”

 

She smiled. “Night, Bee.”

 

“Night, ‘Cee.” It didn’t solve all of his problems, but it did give him thoughts on how to solve _some_ of them, and that was worth it.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Lots_ of Tumblr people have noted that the High Council of Cybertron seems to be taking cues from TFA, and I have my own concerns with. ~~Megatron didn't hone his skill in the Pits of Kaon for this shit.~~
> 
> This is part one of a series; the second piece is already finished and it's much longer and darker in origin.


End file.
